


Take My Pain Away

by CelticPixie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Drug Use, Improper Use of Morphine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticPixie/pseuds/CelticPixie
Summary: You get me high like cocaine,We're moving faster than a free way,I can feel you in my veins,Baby take my pain away.





	Take My Pain Away

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary taken from "Take My Pain Away" by Anarbor. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [UnaDuessa](https://unaduessa.tumblr.com/post/162720943640/evakvigmohns-riz-ahmed-as-edmund-in-king-lear)

_"You ain't using this stuff are you, Doc? I mean personal, like."_

He'd ignored Alley's question back in Bastogne because _of course not._ He didn't need it, the men did, and they barely had enough for the wounded as it was.

Except here, in this aid station, he wasn't so sure. The screaming was so loud, his hands were constantly slick with blood, and sometimes he didn't know whether to be miserable or relieved when a man passed away.

The first time had been an accident. Just an accidental prick of his own hand instead of a soldier's arm. He'd been shaking so bad. He'd been almost shocked at how quickly the medicine set in and he was relieved of duty to sleep it off and catch up on some much needed rest as it was. He probably hadn't slept in days, but the men never stopped coming in and it was easy for the hours to blur together.

Lying on his cot, he'd stared vacantly up, not really seeing anything. One syrette of morphine and he was floating. Nothing mattered, everything was numb, and it felt _amazing_.

It went on for months after that. Pocketing syrettes when he was sure no one was looking, "accidentally" pricking himself after a long shift when it could be passed off as sleep deprivation. Whenever he was allowed back to his tent, he'd slip the needle into a vein and float. Never the whole syrette, just enough for everything to fade. He knew he'd never shake off a whole syrette fast enough for people not to get suspicious.

He was careful.

At least, he thought he was. He thought he'd closed his tent for the night. But, he was somewhere near the tail end of a high, considering a second hit, when the canvas parted and someone walked in. Even without looking over and with his eyesight impaired there was no mistaking the confidence and bravado of the stance.

"Speirs?" Gene drawled, his accent thick and his voice slow. His head still felt stuffed with cotton and he was fuzzy in his thinking.

"Ya know, Doc, I was hoping I'd been mistaken when I saw you pocket that morphine and slip in here," the officer sighed as he lit a cigarette. He took a drag and blew it out slowly. "I really did."

"What you doin' at the station?" Gene asked, propping himself up. He would have called the way Ron moved his cigarette fiddling, but Ron Speirs didn't fiddle.

"Had to drop off a man. Needed a scratch looked at. Put the morphine away, Roe, you'll survive without it," Speirs said. He was offhanded about it and stubbed his cigarette out on his hand. "You're strong enough."

And with that, he left as quickly and casually as he'd come in. And Gene was alone, the numbness in his fingers fading and the pain flooding back. He looked down at the second half of the syrette in his hand and for a moment he wanted to throw it away. He turned it over in his palm and pressed the needle to his wrist…and threw it to the ground before he could lose the will.


End file.
